The Editor’s Ex

BY CAITLIN DOYLE

Because you’re gone, I take a book to bed:

The Flame of Passion. Scabbard at his thigh,

Lord Henry gets the girl. You’d only buy

top Booklist picks. “The romance genre’s dead,”

you’d say when promises of I-thee-wed

lured me to bargain bins. I learned to lie

about my day, hoard Harlequins on the sly

while you were off at work, your office spread

with red-inked proofs. But now it makes me yawn

to read beyond the lovers’ wedding night.

I close The Flame, not even halfway through.

His sword grows dull while she goes on and on

about how lovers must stay true. I’d write

another ending, if I could, for you.
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Read “A Ringing Echo: The Poetry of Caitlin Doyle”